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Sunday, February 21, 2010


the houses were old but tucked into little wooded pockets. we wandered on roads windy and sheltered. In the ruins were men collapsed and hungry, ragged and dirty grasping and bluffing. They chased us to the village and we met the tinkerers daughter. she took us to their enclave of sheds and debris. Old cars stripped on blocks and patched together trucks. in the kitchen the family stove was alive with cooking and children helping with happy faces. in the shed dad was looking under the hood of the the ancient truck with his son. We stood out on the tree covered road and watched. then we got into our truck after many goodbyes and strange parlays of questions and enigmatic answers that answered nothing. down a rocky gorge along a deep lake we had to walk beside the truck but it turned suddenly and plunged into the water. I jumped in and grabbed the back bumper and managed to pull it out of the water and hook it onto a jutting rock. we began the slow hike to find help. back at the tinkerers house the son in string t shirt and dirty pants watched tv and game shows while the younger boy built structures of twisted metal and car parts. mother mixed strange pots of dough and soups and clatterd through the house. the children found a chain of polished steel that could wrap around the bumper and we headed for the ruins to find a tow. The men in the broken walls and alleys knew us and started to chase. they grabbed at me and i cried run to the tower and you sped off as i tried desperately to extricate myself from their grasp. the moon hung yellow like sandpaper and the night sky held smoke and fog. I looked away from their confused faces to see the tower dim and distant a tiny figure leaping across the stones in the night.

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